Diana of George of Montemayor :: :: University of Virginia Library

I should haue dide, and neuer viewed thee
(Faire Shepherdesse, vnwoorthily forgot)
Since that I durst presume to liue, and bee
Before thy sweetest sight, and loue thee not.

A happy loue, and fortune I should prooue,
Both which my paines and sorrowes should abate,
If by remembring of thy deerest loue,
I should forget the greefe of former hate.

For now the feare of death, and leesing thee,
I feare will be my guerdon and my lot,
Since that I durst presume to liue, and bee
Before thy sweetest sight, and loue thee not.

[My soule doth leape for ioy to haue]

My soule doth leape for ioy to haue
My wished loue againe,
For there's no other ioy to craue,
Nor greefe to giue me paine.

I doe not thinke of sorrowes past,
Our loue it may offend:
Of any present greefe to taste,
For hate that hath an end.

Reioice (my soule) such blisse to haue,
Since with so high a game,
There is no other ioy to craue,
Nor greefe to giue me paine.

472

[Svch ioy I feele doth in my soule surmount]

Svch ioy I feele doth in my soule surmount,
That now againe I thinke it nothing strange:
If that a pleasure of so great account
Doth cost two thousand torments for exchange.

Rtill did I looke but still my comforts staied,
But when my soule did once enioy the same,
With their content and sweete delight I paied
My staying, and their tariance did not blame.

Let paines therefore within my soule surmount,
Sorrowes and plaints to me shall not be strange,
If for a pleasure of so great account,
They giue me thousand torments in exchange.

473

[Tvrne thy faire eies (wherein my shame]

Tvrne thy faire eies (wherein my shame
I see) faire Shepherdesse, aside:
For looking on me with the same,
To looke on thee, I am denide.

With thy two sunnes so dost thou giue,
And cast me beames with pearcing eie,
That though by seeing thee I liue,
Yet when thou look'st on me I die:
Eies that are of such art and frame,
Thou must beware to keepe aside,
For looking on me with the same,
To looke on thee I am denide.

Like as the snowe vnto the sunne,
And as the marke vnto the sight,
As cloudes are with the windes vndone,
As waxe before the fires light:
So doe thy fairest eies with shame
Confound me, and my soule deuide:
For looking on me with the same,
To looke on thee I am denide.

Behold what mightie loue is bent
To doe, and fortune doth ordaine
To make my sorrowes still augment
By the sweete guerdon of my paine.
Thine eies doe feede my amorous flame,
And sight of them my life doth guide:
But if thou view'st me with the same,
To looke on thee I am denide.

[Yong Shepherd) turne aside, & moue]

Yong Shepherd) turne aside, & moue
Me not to follow thee,
For I will neither kill with loue,
Nor loue shall not kill mee.

Since I will liue, and neuer fauour showe,
Then die not for my loue I will not giue:
For I will neuer haue thee loue me so,
As I doe meane to hate thee while I liue.

That since the louer so doth proue
His death, as thou dost see,
Be bold I will not kill with loue,
Nor loue shall not kill mee.

[If to belou'd it thee offends]

If to belou'd it thee offends,
I cannot choose but loue thee still:
And so thy greefe shall haue no end,
Whiles that my life maintaines my will.

O let me yet with greefe complaine,
Since such a torment I endure:
Or else fulfill thy great disdaine,
To end my life with death most sure.
For as no credit thou wilt lend,
And as my loue offendes thee still,
So shall thy sorrowes haue no end
Whiles that my life maintaines my will.

If that by knowing thee, I could
Leaue of to loue thee as I doe,
Not to offend thee, then I would
Leaue of to like and loue thee too,
But since all loue to thee doth tend,
And I of force must loue thee still,
Thy greefe shall neuer haue an end,
Whiles that my life maintaines my will.

474

[Methinks, thou tak'st the woorser way]

Methinks , thou tak'st the woorser way,
(Enamoured Shepherd) and in vaine,
That thou wilt seeke thine owne decay,
To loue her, that doth thee disdaine.

For thine owne selfe, thy wofull hart
Keepe still, else art thou much to blame,
For she, to whom thou gau'st each part
Of it, disdaines to take the same:

Follow not her that makes a play,
And iest of all thy greefe and paines,
And seeke not (Shepherd) thy decay
To loue her, that thy loue disdaines.

[Since thou to me wert so vnkinde]

Since thou to me wert so vnkinde,
My selfe I neuer loued, For
I could not loue him in my minde,
Whom thou faire Mistresse dost abhor.

If viewing thee, I saw thee not,
And seeing thee I could not loue thee,
Dying, I should not liue (God wot)
Nor, liuing, should to anger moue thee.

But it is well that I doe finde
My life so full of torments: For
All kinde of ills doe fit his minde,
Whom thou (faire Mistresse) dost abhor.

In thy obliuion buried now
My death I haue before mine eies,
And heere to hate my selfe I vow
As (cruell) thou dost me despise:

Contented euer thou didst finde
Me with thy scornes, though neuer (for
To say the truth) I ioyed in minde,
After thou didst my loue abhor.

475

[Shepherd, why dost thou hold thy peace?]

Sylu.
Shepherd , why dost thou hold thy peace?
Sing: and thy ioy to vs report.

Arsil.
My ioy (good Shepherd) should be lesse,
If it were told in any sort.

Sylu.
Though such great fauours thou dost win,
Yet deigne thereof to tell some part:

Arsil.
The hardest thing is to begin.
In enterprises of such arte.

Sylu.
Come, make an end, no cause omit
Of all the ioies that thou art in,

Arsil.
How should I make an end of it,
That am not able to begin.

Sylu.
It is not iust, we should consent,
That thou shouldst not thy ioies recite,

Arsil.
The soule that felt the punishment
Doth onely feele this great delight.

Sylu.
That ioy is small, and nothing fine,
That is not told abroad to many,

Arsil.
If it be such a ioy as mine.
It can be neuer told to any.

Sylu.
How can this hart of thine containe
A ioy, that is of such great force?

Arsil.
I haue it, where I did retaine
My passions of so great remorce.

Sylu.
So great and rare a ioy as this
No man is able to withhold,

Arsil.
But greater that a pleasure is,
The lesse it may with words be told.

Sylu.
Yet haue I heard thee heeretofore
Thy ioies in open songs report:

Arsil.
I saide, I had of ioy some store,
But not how much, nor in what sort.

Sylu.
Yet when aioy is in excesse,
It selfe it will vnfold,

Arsil.
Nay such aioy should be the lesse,
If that it might be told.

477

A Riddle.

[Neere to a Shepherd did a damsell sit]

Neere to a Shepherd did a damsell sit,
As leane as withered sticke by scorching flame:
Her body as full of eies as might be in it,
A toong she had, but could not mooue the same.
Her winde she drew aboue, and eke beneath,
But from one part she neuer yet did change,
A wofull Shepherd came to kisse her breath,
Then made she plaints most sorrowfull and strange:
The more the Shepherd put his mouth vnto
Her mouth in stopping it, she cried amaine,
Opening her eies, and shutting them againe.
See now what this dumbe Shepherdesse could doe,
That when her mouth he did but touch or kisse,
He waxeth dumbe, but she still speaking is.

478

A Riddle.

[I sawe a hill vpon a day]

I sawe a hill vpon a day,
Lift vp aboue the aire:
Which watered with blood alway
And tilled with great care,
Herbes it brought foorth
Of mickle woorth.

Pulling a handfull from that ridge
And touching but the same,
Which leauing neere vnto a bridge,
Doth cause much sport and game,
(A thing scarce of beleefe)
Lamenting without greefe.

A Riddle.

[What bird is that so light]

What bird is that so light,
Her place that neuer changeth:
She flies by day and night,
In all the world she rangeth:
Ouer the sea at once she flies,
Mounting aboue the loftie skies.

She's neuer seene by eies,
And who doth seeke to show her
Hath beene accounted wise:
Yet sometimes we doe knowe her,
Onely the wals by viewing well
Of her close house, where she doth dwell.

A Riddle.

[Tell me what Master he may be]

Tell me what Master he may be,
Whose Master is his man?
Bound like a sencelesse foole is he,

479

Wittie, it nothing can.
Vnlearned, yet he doth abound
In learning graue and most profound:
When that I take him by the hand,
Although I heare him not,
His meaning yet I vnderstand,
Though him I haue forgot.
So wise is he, though wordes nor motions showing,
Yet thousand things he tels me woorth the knowing.

A Riddle.

[Shew me a horse of such a kinde]

Shew me a horse of such a kinde,
That in the strangest fashion
Doth neuer eate, but of the winde
Doth take his sustentation:
Winged before, and wing'd behinde:
Strange things he doth, and wondrous deeds:

And when he runs his race,
Vpon his brest with haste he speedes.
His reines with maruellous grace
Come from his sides that neuer bleedes.
And in his course he doth not faile,
If rightly he doth wag his taile.

480

A Riddle.

[Tell me (good Sirs) what Bird is that that flies]

Tell me (good Sirs) what Bird is that that flies
Three cubits high, and yet doth neuer rise,
With more then thirtie feete that mount and fall,
With wings that haue no plume nor pens at all:
Beating the aire it neither eates, nor drinks,
It neither cries, nor sings, nor speakes, nor thinks.
Approching neere vnto her cruell death,
She wounds, and kils vs with the stones she throwes:
A friend to those that spend their deerest breath
In spoiles, and thefts, in mortall wounds and blowes:
Wherein she takes her pleasure and her fill,
Hiding the men in waues that she doth kill.

481

Florisias Song.

Flie storming verse out of my raging brest
With furious anger, malice, and despite:
Indigned spirits, once at my request
Powre foorth your wrath and pen prepare to write
With scornefull stinging and inuectiue stile,
Against a people brutish, base, and vile:
A vile, peruerse and monstrous kinde of men,
Who make it but their pastime, and their game,
With barbarous mouth and with vnciuill pen
To slaunder those, who lest deserue the same:
Women I meane a workmanship diuine,
Angels in shape, and Goddesses in minde.

Thou wicked man that dost presume too hie
Of thy perfections, but without desart,
False man I say, accustomed to lie,

482

What euill canst thou thinke within thy hart,
Or speake of her, whose goodnes more or lesse,
Doth fill the world so full of happinesse,
But onely this, that woman was the cause,
Though not alone, of one exceeding ill,
In bringing foorth (constrained by natures lawes)
A man, whose mischiefes all the world doth fill:
Who after that he is conceiu'd and borne,
Against his mother proudly liftes his horne.

Whom if she had not borne, poore silly dame,
With fewer greefes her life she might haue lead,
For then he should not slaunder thus her name,
And such a crowe she should not then haue bred,
That being hatch'd, her dam would thus despise,
And daily labour to plucke out her eies.
What man in all the world did euer knowe,
(Although the tendrest father he had beene)
Those cares, and greefes, that sorrow, and that woe,
Which wiues haue for their husbands felt, and seene?
And how the louing mother for her sonne
With sorrow hath beene oftentimes vndone?

Behold with what affection, and what ioy,
What gentlenes, and what intensiue loue,
The mother doth intreate her little boy?
Which after doth a Traitour to her prooue:
Requiting ill her paines and loue so kinde
With powring sorrowes still into her minde.
What iealous feares, what fearefull iealousies,
Doe haunt the mother for her cruell sonne?
What paine, when that in any paine he lies,
What greefe, when that with greefe he is vndone?
What perfect gladnes, and what sweete content,
When that he is to any goodnes bent?

Alas how pensiue and how sad they ar,
If that their husbands suffer any paine:
What sorrow, when they trauell somewhat far,
What moane, when that they come not soone againe:
A thousand greefes to heare their losse of wealth,
Ten thousand deathes to heare their want of health.
But men that are so full of false deceate,
Our daily sorrowes neuer doe requite,
Or thinke of them, though they be neuer so great,
But rather such their malice and despite
Is; that our louing cares both great and small,
Vniust suspects, and iealousies doe call.

483

The cause of which surmise is onely this,
That as these wicked and detested men
Of custome are enclined to stray amisse,
And in false loue their wits and wealth to spend,
Do thinke it now a burden to their liues,
To be belou'd so truely of their wiues.
Then since in louing them we euer finde
Our selues apayde with hatefull scorne and blame,
I thinke it best, for easing of our minde,
Quite to forget their nature, sexe, and name:
Or else to leaue our ioies in looking on them,
Or if we looke, not once to thinke vpon them.

But yet it is a pretie iest to see
Some kind of men, whose madnes is so great,
That if the woman will not wholly bee
At their desires, then in a franticke heat
They call her Tygresse, cruell, and vnkinde,
And traiteresse vnto a louing minde.
Then shalt thou see these men vnseemely call
The modest women, whom they would haue naught,
Coy and disdainfull to conuerse withall:
And her that's chaste, vnmanner'd and vntaught.
Those that be wise and sober, full of pride:
And cruell those, whose honesties are tride.

I would to God that those dishonored names
Did fit them all, as well as all the rest,
Then none of them should bide so many shames,
Nor be deceiu'd by men, that loue them lest:
For being cruell, proude, and rusticall,
They would not loue, nay could not loue at all.
For if the thing, which they so faine would haue,
By any meanes they cannot once obtaine,
Then do they wish for death, or for their graue:
But yet the same no sooner they attaine,
But make it but a sport and merie game,
And straight forget that ere they lou'd the same.

They faine themselues most sorrowfull and sad,
And wearied with a long and painfull life:
They still do tell the paines that they haue had,
And other lyes, which are with them so rife:
They call themselues vnhappie, poore, and blinde,
Confounded slaues, yet all but words of winde.
O how they can make Oceans of their eies!
And terme their flames their torments and their paines,
And breath out sighes, like vapours in the skies,
And belch out sobs like Aetnas burning vaines:

484

And crie, lament, and mourne, and otherwhile
Dissemble like the weeping Crocodile.

Sometimes they make themselues like conquered slaues,
Sometimes themselues most valiant they do faine,
Sometimes great Lords, with many other braues,
Sometimes throwen downe, and vanquished againe:
Their wounds their ioyes, their paines their pleasures make
And happie comfort in their prisones take.
A thousand times they curse their haplesse stars,
Despising life, and happie death implore:
Yet in the end so valiant in these wars
Of life and death, and other passions more,
That thousand deaths they say they passe and trie,
And yet they neuer make an end to die.

They giue, they gaine, they heale, they wound, they plie,
their soule, their life, their harms, their harts, their teares,
they ioy, they liue, they burne, they paine, they die,
with hap, with hope, with heate, with greefe, with feares.
And so in all their loues, and what they say,
There is a strange confusion euerie way.
And for this cause when Melibe in vaine
With daily suites his loue to me did make,
By telling me his amorous greefe and paine,
and euerie other passion for my sake:
I answered him (good Shepherd) let not grieue thee,
I vnderstand thee not, and lesse beleeue thee.

See therefore men how iustly you deserue
To leese our loue defam'd by your abuse:
Since from this counsell we must neuer swerue,
(As by the wisest dayly put in vse)
To put no faith nor trust in any lyer,
Nor loue that man, whom loue cannot inspire.
From this day therefore call vs now no more
Vnpitifull and cruell homicides,
For tis no reason, that vpon our score
You should nicke vp so many merie tides,
Nor with our liues and honours (to our cost)
Enrich your selues, and after make your boast.

For if (perhaps) a chaste and honest maide
Should looke vpon you in familiar sort,
Or talke with you, then straight it would be saide,
That she is light, and then with false report
Will iudge her naught, by fauouring with a kisse:
Fie shamelesse men, why blush you not at this.
And in this sort the Shepherdesse and dame
Of what degree soeuer that they bee,

485

On euerie side doth suffer wrong and blame,
Since that your wicked toongs in one agree
To call them shamelesse if they loue you well;
And cruell, if your loue they do expell.

And now you hold vs (which is worst of all)
For such accursed women, and so naught
That all those ils which vnto you befall,
You say you haue them onely by our fault.
For your misfortunes, deaths, and other harme.
You say they come by our enchants and charmes.
Nay they do rather happen vnto you
By want of wisedome and your simple sence,
And not by our beautie; for most true
It is that Paris folly and offence
Did cause the ruine of King Priames towne:
And not faire Hellens beautie cast it downe.

But why so like dishonest women do you
With lying toongs so basely vs entreate?
When that so oft you do allure vs to you
With feastes, and maskes, and all of them so great,
That scarce you let vs rest in any sort,
But forcibly do draw vs to your sport.
Then of our honours, and of our estates
You haue no care, and no respect at all,
For we no sooner gone out of your gates,
And from your feastes, which we regarded small,
But by and by your toongs do goe awrie,
Misterming vs that could not you denie.

And yet you are so blinded in this ill,
And troublesome, when that your suites you mooue,
That you will haue the woman (gainst her will)
To die in hot desire of your loue.
So rude you be, that you are not content
To haue some small and modest fauour lent.
And thus the liues of these poore silly dames,
Which otherwise were modest, milde, and chaste,
And therewithall their honours, and good names,
Like traitours vile you conquer, spoile, and waste.
So that those women, that haue gone astray,
By your meanes were brought vnto decay.

But now what pen, what toong or golden verse
Of women may the vertues rare set downe?
How may my simple skill and wit reherse
Their praises and perfections of renowne?
Their constancie, their loue, and faith so pure,
Which in their harts remaines so firme and sure.

486

In many things the greatnes of their minde
They shew, contemning base and doubtfull feare:
As those, whose tender loue hath beene so kinde
Vnto their husbands, when they liuing were,
That all their moanes and sorrowes for their death
They ended soone, by stopping of their breath.

And if for vertue, and his chaste intent
Hippolytus deserued any praise,
On th' other side behold that excellent
And noble Roman Matrone in her daies
With stabbing dagger giuing vp the ghost,
I meane faire Lucrece, for her honour lost.
It was no doubt great valour in the youth,
As neuer like hath beene in all the rest,
Who vowing to his father faith and truth,
Deni'd his stepdames foule and fond request.
All which admit: Hippolytus is but one,
But thousands of Lucrecias haue beene knowne.

Giftes haue we more (our beauties set aside)
For in good letters famous haue we bin:
And now to prooue our iudgements often tride,
And sharpnes of our finest wits therein,
Let Sappho and Corynna well suffice,
Who when they liu'd, for learning got the prise.
And learned men doe therefore banish vs
Their schooles, and places where they do dispute,
For feare (if we should argue and discusse)
With praise we should their arguments confute:
Too proud therefore, they would not by their will,
That women should excell them in their skill.

And if some authors, scorned in their loues,
Haue written ill of women, in their hate,
Not this our credits any whit disprooues,
And can as lesse diminish our estates:
Since they themselues haue writ as ill of men,
Beleeue not then their lying toongs and pen.
Yet this doth cause some small and little change,
And alteration in our great desarts:
For they must needes (and sure it is not strange,
Considering their vile malicious harts)
In whatsoeuer they doe write or say,
To speake the woorst of women that they may.

But yet among these Authors thou shalt finde
Most famous women, and most excellent:
Peruse their works but with indifferent minde,

487

And thou shalt see what numbers they present
Of good and honest Dames, before thine eies,
Of louing, faithfull, holy, chaste, and wise.
They doe adorne the world with goodly graces,
And with their vertues giue it golden light:
The shining beautie of their sweetest faces
Doth fill each hart and eie with great delight.
They bring all comforts, gladnes, peace, and ioy,
And driue away all sorrowes, and annoy.

By them (false men of bad and wicked mindes)
You get great honour, glorie, and renowne:
And for their sakes, inuenting sundry kindes
Of verses, get sometimes the Laurell crowne:
And for their loue, in Martiall feates againe
To golden praise and fame you doe attaine.
You therefore that imploy your wits and time,
In searching out the course of others liues,
If that you finde some woman toucht with crime
Amongst so many widowes, maides, and wiues:
Condemne not all for one poore soules offence,
But rather hold your iudgements in suspence.

And if so many Dames so chaste, and faire,
Cannot subdue your proud and hautie harts,
Behold but one, whose vertues are so rare,
To whom the heauens so many goods imparts,
That onely she possesseth in her brest
As many giftes, nay more then all the rest.
The brauest men, and most heroicall,
And those that are most perfect in conceate,
I see this Lady far excell them all,
With her diuine perfections, and so great,
Which Orpheus did sing vpon a day,
As on his harpe most sweetely he did play.

Saying: That in that happy land, where white
And chalkie cliffes are steept in Brittish seas,
A morning star should rise exceeding bright,
Whose birth will siluer Cynthia much displease,
In that her golden light, and beauties gleames
Shall far surpasse her brothers borrowed beames.
And such a Lady shall she be indeede,
That she shall ioy each hart with happy chaunce:
Her woorthy house, wherein she shall succeede,
With titles of great praise she shall aduaunce:
And make the same more glorious and more knowne,
Then euer did the Affrican his owne.

488

Make triumphes then for birth of such a dame,
And let each hart be glad that hath beene sorie:
Reioice Meridian springs from whence she came;
You linage her, she honours you with glorie,
Her name from East to West, from North to South
Is well esteem'd and knowne in euery mouth.
Come then you Nymphes, resigne to her your powers,
Faire Nymphes that follow Cynthia in her chace,
Come waite on her and strowe the ground with flowers,
And sing in honour of her matchlesse grace:
And Muses nine that dwell in mount Parnasse
Let verse nor song without her praises passe.

Thou dar'st not Rome (in seeing her) presume
With Brutus stately Iland to compare,
But sooner wilt thy selfe with greefe consume,
To see how far she doth excell those faire
Ladies of Rome renowned in their daies,
In euery thing wherein they got most praise.
In bountie Porcia she shall much exceede,
In wisedome passe Cornelia Pompeies wife,
In honour Liuia, so haue her stars decreed,
And chaste Sulpitia in modestie of life:
Her beautie and the vertues in her brest,
Eugeria staines, and conquers all the rest.

This is the Thought that honours my desire,
This is my Parnasse and Aonian spring,
This is the Muse that giues me holy fire,
This is the Phœnix with her golden wing,
This is the star, and power of such might,
That giues me glorie, spirit, plume and light.
Petrarke had left his Laura all alone,
Folchet Aldagias praise with loftie stile,
Guilliaum the Countesse of Rossiglion,
Raymbald his Lady Morie Verdefueille,
To grace his verse he would besides refuse
The Countesse of Vrgiel for his Muse.

Anacreon Euripile defied
And Americ, Gentile, Gascoignes light:
Raymbald the Lord of Vacchieres denied
Of Monferrato Beatrice to delight
With sweetest verse to win her noble grace
Sister vnto the Marquis Boniface.
Arnoldo Daniel had as much repented
Bouilles praise his Lady long agon,
Bernard had neuer with his verse contented

489

The faire Vicountesse of Ventideon.
(Though these were Dames of beautie and renowne,
Gracing each Poet with a Laurell crowne.)

If they had seene this Lady in their time,
Who all their giftes and beauties doth possesse,
They had strain'd foorth inuention, verse, and rime,
To celebrate so high a Patronesse.
On her their thoughts and pens they had imployed,
Happy so rare a Muse to haue enioyed.
This did Orpheus sing with sweetest verse,
And Eccho answered to his siluer voice,
And euery time he did the same rehearse,
The land and sea did presently reioice
To heare the ioyfull newes of such an one,
By whom their honour should be so much knowne.

Now then from this day foorth and euermore
Let wicked men their false opinions leaue,
And though there were not (as there is) such store
Of woorthy Dames (as vainly they conceiue)
This onely one with honour shall recall,
And amplifie the glorie of vs all.

[Poore Melibee of loue and hope forgot]

Poore Melibee of loue and hope forgot,
Told to Florisia greefes that he had past,
She answered him: I vnderstand thee not,
And lesse beleeue thee (Shepherd) what thou saiest.

He saith: My peerelesse Shepherdesse,
Behold the paine wherewith I die,
Which I endure with willingnesse,
And seeke that greefe, which I would flie:
My hot desires doe burne and die I wot,

490

Hope is my life, but feare the same doth waste:
She answered him: I vnderstand thee not,
And lesse beleeue thee (Shepherd) what thou saiest.

He saith: The pale and pinching care
Hath beene so pleasant to my minde,
That how much more fals to my share,
The more I doe desire to finde:
I craue no guerdon for my painefull lot,
But as I loue, to be belou'd as fast:
She answered him: I vnderstand thee not,
And lesse beleeue thee (Shepherd) what thou saiest.

He saith: My death should now redresse
My paines, but for the greeuous ill
Which I should feele (faire Shepherdesse)
In leauing of to see thee still:
But if I see thee sad, a harder knot
Of greefes I feele, and greater death doe tast:
She answered him: I vnderstand thee not,
And lesse beleeue thee (Shepherd) what thou saiest.

He saith: In seeing thee I die,
And when I see thee not, I paine,
In seeking thee, for feare I flie,
I haue to finde thee out againe.
As old Proteus was woont to change his cote,
Figure, and shape which long time did not last:
She answered him: I vnderstand thee not,
And lesse beleeue thee (Shepherd) what thou saiest.

He saith: I doe pretend to craue
No more good then my soule can get:
Bicause with that small hope I haue,
(Me thinkes) I doe offend thee yet.
For suffring for thy sake the smallest iot
Of wounding greefe a thousand ioies I tast:
She answered him: I vnderstand thee not,
And lesse beleeue thee (Shepherd) what thou saiest.

492

Prouençall Rythmes.

When that with thousand parti-coloured flowers
The springtide comes in euerie pleasant mead,
And glorious Titan, free from winters showers,
With golden beames the fields doth ouerspread,
The Shepherds rich, and frollicke in their bowers,
With pipes and songs their flockes to fields do lead:

493

The nightingall with warbling throte
Doth tug forth many a pleasant note,
that makes the woods to ring:
The fountaines cleere as Christall glasse,
About the which, vpon the grasse
The Nymphes do sit and sing:
But let Eluinia turne her eies from all those sweete delights,
Then doth continuall winter rage with stormy daies and nights.

When that the freezing Northren windes disgrace
The fragrant flowers, the stately trees and tall
Of all their pride, and couereth euery place
With flakes of snow, which neuer cease to fall:
And nightingals their songs leaue for a space,
And desert fieldes, that haue no greene at all:
The daies are yrkesome short, and sad,
The cold nights blow, as they were mad,
With many a bitter blast:
The cloudes as darke as any pitch,
And thicke as lothsome mud in ditch,
The aire do ouercast.
But let Eluinia walke the fields or where it please her best,
There merie springtide doth returne her praises to protest.

If that the angrie heauens sometimes throw downe
A fearfull lightning or some cruell thunder,
The silly Shepherd, far from wood or towne,
Begins to feare, to tremble and to wonder,
And if the hayle fall thicke vpon the ground
Like little stones, do beat and burst asunder
The fruit, and leaues in euerie place,
And spoiles the flowers of their grace,
A strange, and pitious sight:
The Shepherd runs away amaine,
Leauing his sheepe vpon the plaine
With swift and fearfull flight:
But let Eluinia walke the fields her beautie euerie where
Doth cleere the heauens, and rids the Shepherds hart from trembling feare.

And if by chaunce I sing or pipe on hie,
Vnder the shade of Elme or little hill,
The Song thrush and the heauenly Larke replie
Vnto my songs, with sweetest notes at will:
And when the fresh and Western windes in skie
Breath forth an aire, so pleasant and so still:
When euerie ioy, and sweete content,
And euerie day in pleasures spent
Doth giue me new delights,
And free from feare with liuely cheere

494

In happines I spend the yeere,
The pleasant daies and nights:
But if Eluinia once do frowne, I am much more afraide
Then if a burning lightning had my sences all dismaide.

If that Diana goeth forth to chace
The sauage beastes, with bended bow to tame,
With troups of Nymphes that waite vpon her grace
Whose thoughts chaste sports and exercise do frame:
And with the same with great delight do trace
The woods and lawnes in seeking out some game.
Hamadriades and Napees faire
With strowing Roses, do prepare
The way before their Queene:
The Nymphes that follow sweetly sing,
And hils and dales with triumphes ring,
And woods both fresh and greene:
But if she come vnto the wood, where my Eluinia chaceth
She makes her silent, quailes her pride, and beauties all disgraceth.

And when her bodie whiter then the snow
She washeth in the fountaine christall bright,
If thither Cynthia should but chaunce to goe,
And see those parts so daintie and so white,
For shame she would cast downe her eies I know,
And so depart, confounded at that sight:
For in those fountaine waters cleere
So braue a figure doth appeere,
As like was neuer seene:
So faire a face, such golden haire
With rarest grace are shining there
As like hath neuer beene:
And bold Acteon if he did but see there alone,
Had not beene turn'd into a Hart, but to a Marble stone.

A thousand times my song I will reply thee,
In euerie place where I doe feed my sheepe,
But hence away, for pitie now go hie thee
Vnto my Loue, and tell her how I weepe.
See if thou canst but mooue her hart
To some small pitie of my smart,
And of my little rest:
Go to my faire and fatall star,
Tell her what wounding thoughts do war
Within my painfull brest.
O happie man if that thou mightest this grace of Fortune trie,
To see Eluinia change her minde, or else thy selfe to die.

495

[Diana, Loue, and my faire Shepherdesse]

Diana, Loue, and my faire Shepherdesse,
Did in the field their chiefest cunning trie,
By shooting arrowes at a tree neere by,
Whose barke a painted hart did there expresse:
Diana stakes her beautie mercilesse,
Cupid his bowe, Argia her libertie:
Who shewed in her shot a quicker eie,
A better grace, more courage, and successe:
And so did she Dianas beautie win,
And Cupids weapons, by which conquer'd prize
So faire and cruell she hath euer bin,
That her sweete figure from my wearied eies,
And from my painfull hart her cruell bowe
Haue stolne my life and freedome long agoe.